


Self-reflection

by gwendee



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But I don't think it's cry worthy at the very least, Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dynamics, Gakushuu is sad, Gen, I like making him sad, I think so?, I think you all know not to take my word on it by now, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Is it like, Just Gakushuu reminiscing honestly, Light Angst, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendee/pseuds/gwendee
Summary: Kunugigaoka, 3-E and Gakushuu does some self reflection.“What will you tell your younger self, Asano?” Isogai asks.“To learn to give up and accept loss,” Gakushuu says. His voice comes out harder than he means it to be, “some things just aren’t worth fighting for.”
Relationships: Asano Gakuhou & Asano Gakushuu
Comments: 22
Kudos: 267





	Self-reflection

**Author's Note:**

> A bitch is posting
> 
> (waves sadly) 2020 is off to a miserable start and so am I

**if you could tell your younger self something, what would it be?**

_“Give up.”_

It’s a stupid exercise, Gakushuu thinks, primary goal of which to allow the students to reflect on how much they’ve changed and grown over their education journey and where they stood in society now as young adults. He supposes most of his classmates would write about hard work and staying true to your dreams and some motivational bullshit (along the lines of), but this was a mental break of a non-graded assignment if anything and Gakushuu doesn’t quite have the energy to write an essay for something he feels so little about.

His mind wanders to 3-E as it normally does nowsadays, with all the secrecy surrounding the classroom on the hill and the cat-killing curiosity that Gakushuu possesses. What would a class of misfit-delinquents turned star students tell their younger selves? Surely words more interesting than the slew of “stay disciplined”s that 3-A was paraphrasing times over to fill out the single page. 

Gakushuu makes up his mind then, bothering class 3-E would be monumentally more fun than sitting in his own class stewing over his paper. He gives Sensei a look and lightly touches the bandage on his face and Sensei lets him go with a strained smile; nobody speaks about it, not with the tight ship the principal runs or the taboo of the topic at hand. School principal slapping students versus domestic abuse in the household of well known educator: scandalous, no? Gakushuu doesn’t tiptoe around it the way everyone else does, and his classmates obediently keep their heads lowered at the mere suggestion of it. Loopholes, Gakushuu thinks cheerily to himself, and he only manages to keep the skip out of his step until he leaves the main campus.

Cutting class might have been a no-no a month prior but with Finals behind them, lesson time comprises of highschool material that Gakushuu has long drilled himself on and the principal was too busy stewing in shame in his office to notice that Gakushuu was outside of his classroom more often than in. His teachers tactfully chose not to mention it to Gakuhou, not after the spectacle that has yet to die down. “Recovery,” they say, like Gakushuu’s prescription consists of open spaces and sunlight.

Gakushuu wonders if 3-E knows. They hardly come down to main and this is hardly an incident worth mentioning during school assemblies. Perhaps gossip reaches far?

He hasn’t caught a glimpse of neither head nor tail of the fabled Koro-sensei (Gakushuu would love to meet the man who singlehandedly brought a failing class to the top) since he started dropping in on 3-E unannounced, but there’s a gust of wind and an open window closed a few seconds prior, and Gakushuu narrows his eyes at it. 3-E, mildly annoyed but used to the interruptions, reach an unspoken consensus to continue their work and Gakushuu notices that it is indeed said mandatory survey.

Isogai and Kataoka greet him politely, point out a chair conveniently left empty as their teacher jumped out the window. He receives no more of a cordial welcome than stilted silence from the rest which is more than Gakushuu says he’s worth, so he settles in and pretends to read a book.

“Oi, second place,” Akabane calls, irresistible to starting shit. “What happened to your face?”

Seems that 3-E remains blissfully oblivious. The nickname is obnoxious and a direct consequence of his failure as with the mark on his cheek, and Gakushuu takes a deep breath to force himself to accept the loss gracefully. 

“What do you think?” Gakushuu asks.

“Daddy dearest slapped you across the face because you lost first place?” Akabane baits, mocking grin spreading across his face. A few of his classmates giggle softly, Gakushuu reminds himself that they don’t know that yes, that happened, he takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

Graceful. “Actually yes,” Gakushuu says. 

The silence that had comfortably settled upon 3-E then takes a different weight. Akabane’s smile drops. “Oh. Uh.”

Gakushuu’s no stranger to unwanted attention but he’s pressed to admit that he’s grown far fonder through the unbiased lens 3-E regards him through; he is not student council president or star student or golden child, he is just another schoolmate, abielt one whom with they crossed paths far more often.

“It’s no matter,” Gakushuu tells them firmly, “I suppose congratulations are in order for your placings in Finals this year.”

“We tried our best,” Isogai says.

“And great job,” Gakushuu says, “thank you.” 

The glances 3-E exchanges amongst themselves fall short of pride. Gakushuu knows that look well. One of the exchange students - Horibe, if Gakushuu remembers right, silent thus far, stares with sharp eyes and says, “why’d he hit you?”

“Itona,” someone warns.

“Whatever Akabane said,” Gakushuu drawls. He drums his fingers over the bandage on his cheek, 3-E following the movement with drawn breaths. “How the mighty fall from grace, no? I _am_ bitter about it, I would have to admit,” he pauses, “but I accept my loss, a mistake on my part. I won’t slip up next time.”

“Good,” Akabane says, getting to his feet. “Won’t want competition getting boring.”

Gakushuu bares his teeth in a grin. He surveys the room and sees that the students were tackling the principal’s assignment with a notable amount of effort, if the chicken scratch of paragraphs was to be believed. He’s a little impressed. In the front row, Isogai frowns at Gakushuu, then follows his gaze to look at his paper. 

“May I?” Gakushuu says softly.

“Uhm,” Isogai says, “sure.” 

Gakushuu plucks his paper off his desk and reads the responses to the questions every basic self-reflection survey must have. It starts off the cliche “work hard” that Gakushuu imagines must resonate with Isogai more, with his family’s financial situation. Isogai writes about managing priorities and setting goals; it reads practical and street-smart much like a diary of a modest hard worker. 

And then the million dollar question: if you could tell your younger self something, what would it be?

“I would tell my younger self,” Isogai starts, “to believe in himself when no one else will. To treasure the friends he makes, because he doesn’t have to fight his battles alone.”

Can Gakushuu say that about himself?

“I’m not finished with it,” Isogai says, face pink. 

“I think it’s nice,” Gakushuu tells him quietly. 

Isogai chews on his bottom lip, and looks at the question Gakushuu was hung on. “What will you tell your younger self, Asano?” He asks. 

“To learn to give up and accept loss,” Gakushuu says. His voice comes out harder than he means it to be, and Gakushuu blinks once, twice, hands the piece of paper back to Isogai and says, “some things just aren’t worth fighting for.”

Gakushuu had lost many times in his life. After a while, losses start to blur together - nothing persisted in the long run, really, and everything people said about how a few bad grades from middle school wouldn't matter in college was true. 

Gakushuu only remembers the first time he ever truly lost. It hadn't been a sports match or a childhood game of tag or a spelling bee. He'd been five then, left alone in his room and not understanding why, and then he'd been left alone many times after that - he'd lost, of all things, his father's attention. He would only find out much later, of course, the true significance of that he didn't lose Gakuhou's focus, no, Gakuhou was still very much fixated on Gakushuu's life and the path he went. 

Gakushuu had lost his father's love. 

That still wasn't entirely true. His father still loved him plenty, is what Gakushuu would like to think. He just lost to a competition he never knew he had been participating in, to some kid he never met but had gone and died on him.

The second, third, fourth and subsequent losses never mattered to him after that. 3-A would laugh about their failure of a finals score years down the road, their first true failure, perhaps, and their road to reflection and growth. They'll get over it. 

Gakushuu makes it back to his classroom just as the next period ends, and Sensei gives him a pained smile as Gakushuu holds the door open for her, and slides into the classroom.

“How was your walk?” Ren jokes cautiously in greeting.

“Pretty warm out,” Gakushuu says. “I should change my bandages soon.”

He admits he’s taking some strange sense of pleasure in making his schoolmates squirm with the uncomfortableness of the topic, as they dance around it and he jumps in headfirst. Gakushuu laughs out loud as Ren makes a face.

“When’s that due?” Gakushuu asks, gesturing to the essay left on a classmate’s desk, even though he knows.

“End of the week,” Seo answers him, fully aware that Gakushuu knows.

Gakushuu kind of wants to ask how self-reflection for 3-A is coming along, but, loss is still new to them and he remembers how long it took for him to come to terms with his first real defeat. He’d long acknowledged that he’d never stand up enough to Ikeda in his father’s eyes and that was a wholehearted defeat he’s still suffering the repercussions from. 

Maybe he never will, Gakushuu muses, some things just weren’t worth fighting for.

Gakushuu sits down as the bell signalling sixth period starts, their Ethics teacher is a small woman with an imposing demeanor and the first time she saw Gakushuu with a plaster on his face she’d averted her gaze and hadn’t dared say a peep.

Today she steps into class with an unfamiliar weight on her heels and a large box in her arms. Gakushuu immediately gets out of his seat to take it from her hands. She falters a little, gives him a nod and a “thank you”, and distribute the magazines in the box. They discuss briefly about several world issues and their impacts that the articles touch on, and the rest of the lesson lets them read at their own pace. A few people shift seats and Gakushuu translates a few phrases for his classmates, and then the bell rings.

It’s a testament to how his week has been, Gakushuu thinks, barely in lessons and flitting in and out of wherever he so pleases and no teachers stopping him in the hallways when everyone else should be in the classrooms. He wonders the end of the deal Gakuhou was getting out of this, were his employees tiptoeing around him, too? As if the slightest reprimand would shatter Gakushuu like glass.

He hasn’t played hooky before, Gakushuu thinks, and with an exhilarating feeling in his chest just an hour after being flung across the room like a rag doll, he skips his first class.

In perfectly good condition to walk the few steps from the nurses’ office to the stairs, then up the stairs to his classroom. The nurse doesn’t chase him away, nobody comes looking for him, and Gakushuu watches the clock tick minutes by with his toes curling and his heart jumping out of his throat.

Two periods pass excruciatingly slowly, and Gakushuu realizes that nobody cared what he fucking did.

Perhaps, he reasons with himself much later, Gakuhou turning up at the nurses’ office mere minutes after tossing his son against the wall of the classroom with intent to drag said son back to class, well, it would have certainly garnered an interesting response from the staff on hand. But Gakushuu surely doesn’t expect radio silence from his father and surely for not as long as a week; he spends that time pushing the limits and skipping past the principal’s office during Math and waving to his secretary, and the office door doesn’t swing open to demand his attention.

And then a first of firsts, a _self reflection survey_ of all things, lands on Gakushuu’s desk.

“If you have ever done _self reflection_ in your life,” Gakushuu says, paper crinkling in his fingers as he waves it around, “you wouldn’t have made such flawed, flawed choices.”

Gakuhou ignores him. Gakushuu cackles despite the disapproving looks from his caretaker, and later Tamiko lightly cuffs him on the ear and says, “don’t give your father anymore grief.”

“What about _my_ grief?” Gakushuu complains, to be more dramatic than anything and Tamiko clucks her tongue at him. “I haven’t heard a single word from him all week. Not even an apology, and you do know what an _upstanding man_ that _Mister Principal Asano_ is.”

Tamiko softens. “He is sorry.”

“Hearing it from you makes as much of a difference as me telling myself that,” Gakushuu says, “but thank you. It means a lot when someone tries to convince me my own father cares.”

Tamiko cuffs him, again. “Don’t be smart with me, boy.” 

“Sorry,” Gakushuu says. “And really, thank you. But you’re not the person I need to hear from.”

“I know,” Tamiko says softly, and her hands are gentle.

Gakuhou, Gakushuu thinks, does self reflection, perhaps more than he should. Some people would call that overthinking. It was what led to his father's downward spiral of an education regime, after all, the reevaluation of his priorities and policies. It’s not that he avoids self reflection but he knows what going down the wrong thread can do to people. 

"Asano," his father calls out in the dead silence of their living room. Gakushuu barely has his shoes off, but he answers the call with propriety, and goes to greet his principal at the dining hall, a laptop open and papers stacked on the table.

Gakuhou's holding a sheet in his hand. The reflection papers. This copy isn't blank although it could very well be mistaken as such - there's Gakushuu's name printed neatly on the top of the page, and in equally impeccable font, two words in the middle of the blank space left for the last question. The rest of the space, save the questions themselves, is empty.

"I thought you better than to hand up incomplete work," his father says with a cool tone, but Gakushuu knows what he's really trying to ask, what does this mean?

This reflection assignment was useless. Gakushuu doesn't say that. "It's for your reference," Gakushuu says. "You already know the answers to them, it would be redundant to write them out again." 

_What are your future career plans? CEO._

_What are your prospective high school paths? Kunugigaoka High._

_What is one goal you achieved that you are proud of in your middle school years? Graduate valedictorian._

_What is one goal you wish you achieved? Find out 3-E’s secret._

A few more questions. _What could you have improved on? How have your priorities and goals changed?_

The last question. _If you could tell your younger self something, what would it be?_

There's a lot Gakushuu would like to say, he thinks.

_Give up._

There's a lot that Gakushuu wished he gave up. 

"I've always wanted to play badminton," Gakushuu says. He thinks of the first time he caught the Wimbledon on the television, five years old and watching the players dance on the screen with an enviable grace. He played basketball first, instead, because there was a basketball in Gakuhou's office that Gakushuu was never allowed to touch, and Gakushuu yearned for nothing more than his father's approval. Gakuhou freezes.

"I would be a florist," Gakushuu says. "I like flowers. I would play the piano and ice skate," he pauses, "study physics."

"You can do all those things now," Gakuhou says softly.

"I already know how to play badminton," Gakushuu tells him. That's not what he means. Gakushuu had learnt badminton and piano and ice skating for the sake of knowing those things, and he will never get back trying them out because he wants to. He wishes he gave up trying to chase the ghost of someone he could never be all those years ago for his father to look at him. 

Gakuhou never looked away, not really, but he never did see Gakushuu either. Parents, most of them, want something for their child, and Gakushuu knows that his father is no exception. Gakuhou wants him to be happy. He gave up a lot for his own dreams, too, for his own goals and fears and for Gakushuu. 

But happiness is the one thing Gakushuu had given up in a fruitless attempt to get everything else. He doesn't think he'll ever get it back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe getting rid of my WIPs now in my sad Asano folder.


End file.
